


Touch

by CuriousToaster



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Car Accidents, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, idk how to tag tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-07 07:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousToaster/pseuds/CuriousToaster
Summary: The therapist is silent for a minute before he speaks. “Tyler do you regret surviving the wreck?”He snorts, rolling his sightless eyes. “Yes, I do.” He rubs at his good knee through the rough fabric of his hospital issued pants. “Hell of a second chance, don’t you think?”





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> tune in next time to see if my depressed ass writes something happy!!

“Sir, sir! I need you to stay with me, okay?” Tyler wants to scream and vomit and cry all at the same time but all he can do is lay still. He can’t see and his body is on fire but all he can do is lay still. “Sir, can you give me a sign you’re conscious?” He wants to nod, wants to open his eyes and flash morse code at her through his lashes, but all he can do is lay still. “Decker, we’re losing him!” He wants to ask what’s wrong and ask where’s Josh and ask if he’s alright.

But all he can do is lay still.

\---

He wakes up slowly, and then all at once, eyes glued shut as he gasps.

“Tyler, Tyler?” His mother’s hand is rubbing along the top of his wrist, gentle and soothing. He tries to open his eyes but they won't, there’s only black, not even a hint of light. “Tyler honey can you hear me?”

“Ma-” He coughs, pain flaring through his body and he lets out a pitiful cry.

“I can’t open my eyes.” He whispers out, fingers crawling across the warm bed sheets.

“Tyler, honey what do you mean?” His mother’s fear seeps through into her words, pushing his heart into overdrive. “Honey your eyes are open.”

Tyler wants to cry, but all he can do is lay still.

\---

Tyler is blind.

He has a disability.

His legs, left arm, multiple ribs, and his left hip are broken.

He cannot move and he cannot see.

Tyler wishes he died in the wreck.

\---

“Josh, baby turn up the radio it’s my favorite song.” He grins, leaning across the center console to rub at Josh’s arm. He sings along as Josh turns it up, gazing at him with so much love in his eyes that Tyler has to look away. “Eyes on the road, lover boy.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles, but Tyler watches him from the corner of his eye as he turns his head every few seconds.

Neither of them see the deer until it’s too late.

“JOSH!” The tires screaming against the wet asphalt deafen Tyler as he throws his arm out against Josh’s chest, momentum sending him into the dashboard. He goes weightless as they flip and the windshield shatters as they come back down.

He loses count how many times they flip.

\---

Physical therapy is slow and painful and Tyler struggles with everything. He curses himself and claws at his bandaged face.

They tie him to the bed at night.

\---

“Do you remember that night, Tyler?” Dr. Reed asks, his voice soft. “Do you know how lu-”

“Yes!” He snaps, fingers gripping the armchair. He imagines that it’s expensive brown leather he’s tearing holes in. “I know how lucky I am to be alive! Everybody tells me that, twenty four- fucking -seven that I should be grateful for this second chance that God granted me.” His chest heaves and he slams himself backwards in the chair. “Where is Josh’s second chance, huh? Riddle me that! Why did I get a second chance, a real shitty second chance, may I add, and Josh gets put six feet under?”

The therapist is silent for a minute before he speaks. “Tyler do you regret surviving the wreck?”

He snorts, rolling his sightless eyes. “Yes, I do.” He rubs at his good knee through the rough fabric of his hospital issued pants. “Hell of a second chance, don’t you think?”

\---

Tyler learns braille. It takes time, but it’s time Tyler has. His fingers glide over pages and he frowns as he tries to remember the alphabet. His skin prickles and he huffs, popping his knuckles of his good hands against the table.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Ty-”

“Mom, I’m not some pity case, okay? I’m still your son, even if I am useless.” He snaps, rubbing at his aching knee.

“Tyler I don’t think you’re useless.” She says.

 _‘Tyler I don’t want you to speak the truth.’_ She means.

\---

Too many people touch him at Josh’s funeral, soft voices and gentle hands, but it’s too much and he wants to go back to his hospital bed. The priest talks slowly about Josh, and family members come up one after the other after the other to talk about Josh and how lovely he was.

 _Is_. He wants to correct them. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he’s not lovely anymore.

His mother wheels him up after the service, and he hears her walk away after a long moment. He sucks in a painful breath and reaches out, fingers curling instinctively into a fist when they meet the cool metal of the fittings. He forces them open, pads ghosting across the wood until they catch on the lip of his casket.

He knows the funeral wouldn’t be open-casket. He knows that there’s not even a body in there. The therapist didn’t lie to him, didn’t sugar coat anything.

 _‘There really wasn’t much of a difference between the car and Josh,’_ He said, pausing as if Tyler wanted time to dwell on his sentence. _‘There were few solid parts of him left.’_

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, splaying his hand out across the cold wood. “You deserved so much better.”

\---

Tyler’s mother moves in with him.

She cooks and cleans and helps him shower and dress. He hates it, but he can’t bring himself to admit he can’t function alone.

He spends most of his time in bed, staring up at a ceiling he can’t see, imagining a starry mural painted above his head.

Josh’s clothes don’t smell like his cologne anymore, but it doesn’t stop Tyler from knocking everything off the bathroom counter to find his bottle.

\---

Tyler counts his steps. 6 steps from the door to the couch, 10 to the kitchen, 18 to the bathroom and 27 to the bedroom. His cane constantly tapping is a burning reminder that he cannot function alone. His broken bones heal and the pain fades away, but his left arm aches if he uses it too much and his hip always hurts.

His doctor says he will always have a limp.

Tyler wonders if Josh would’ve had a limp if he survived.

\---

He’s sitting on the couch, the TV playing in the background as he reads a book. His fingers move lightning quick now, though he sometimes has to go over the same line a few times. He sets it aside and struggles up, cane tapping as he counts under his breath. He bumps into the kitchen counter and sighs heavily, fingers skimming across the counter as he makes his way to the fridge for a Red Bull. His fingers knock into something and he tentatively wraps his hand around it.

He knows from the shape of the can it’s a Red Bull.

And it’s straight from the fridge, ice cold.

\---

Tyler’s other senses get better over time.

He hears things he didn’t before, he knows what he’s touching only after seconds handling it, and he knows when someone is looking at him.

His mother is out grocery shopping but he still feels eyes on him. His hairs raise and he gets the shivers every few minutes, though he’s warm. He ignores it and reads, fingers running across the raised dots.

“The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” He reads and pauses to whisper it. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

As if in answer, the room grows warm.

“You’re here.”

\---

Tyler slowly grows better at being independent.

His mother moves out and he’s left to an empty house and cold floors. He knows he’s not alone. He knows he’s not crazy when he feels a warm hand on the side of his face and the small of his back.

He fell one day and swore his fall was slowed by a hand on his arm. He reads aloud, wondering aloud sometimes if Josh liked the book he picked.

Josh never answers, but he never disappears, either.

\---

He crawls in bed one night, wrapped in Josh’s hoodie and Josh’s boxers and Josh’s socks, enveloped by his smell. The bed creaks as it dips and he lets his arm reach out, knuckles knocking softly against a warm body.

“You’re here.” He whispers, tears threatening to spill.

“I’m here,” Josh whispers.

And Tyler smiles.


End file.
